Turning points in the road
by btvshond
Summary: Vignettes of Snape's life. 1: after James humiliates Snape as shown in OoTP. 2: Fool. He was a fool to join the Dark Lord. 3: turning to whom is left to trust. 4: being a spy. 5: attack on Godric's Hollow. 6: Repercussion. 7: Visiting the Potters' grave.
1. Decision

Chapter One: Decision.  
  
Mudblood.  
  
That was all she was. Just another Mudblood.  
  
He hated them. Mudbloods and especially those in Gryffindor. Most of all, he hated Potter and his swooning followers.  
  
How could a person be blinded by the good looks and Quidditch skills so easily? How could a person not see the sheer vanity and disgusting cockiness that emitted from Potter's every strut?  
  
Why could a person not understand that there were so much more than such paltry attributes? Why could no one appreciate another for what he was? Why could no one accept him?  
  
He wiped off a hot tear threatening to roll down his cheek as he sat alone on his bed. He heard the happy cries and shouts of the students outside the castle. He refused to show anyone that he was hurt. He had shown his vulnerability as always at home. . .  
  
Enough! He shut out his mind resolutely of the memories he had no wish to return. Enough! He vowed never to be affected by them.  
  
Yet a dimwit would know that Potter had succeeded in humiliating him back at the field. They had all laughed. No one had cared to help him. They had stood by, watching him suffer. So be it. After five years in Hogwarts, he knew better to seek genuine assistance from another. No one liked him and he was moved by none. If his hopes had been lifted before when a person showed minute friendliness toward him, they had been swiftly crushed when he realised that they were merely seeking to use him for his academic prowess.  
  
No more. He would never trust anyone nor befriend anyone ever again.  
  
He snatched his books angrily and clutched them to his chest. These were his only companions. They did not mock him nor caused him pain. They were his confidant and guardian, taking nothing from him but giving everything they possessed to him. Knowledge, that was all he needed to survive in this cold-hearted, bleak world, he thought disillusioned, where people kicked you simply because they were bored. He defied the philosophers and soul healers who claimed that a human lived in society because he needed interaction. He did not require human contact. He would harden his heart that none may penetrate it. In time, the still heart would be destroyed and all unnecessary emotion perished.  
  
He had the strength and cunning. He was a Slytherin! He would hold his head proud and view Potter and Black with detached disdain. Yes, he knew he could do it.  
  
And if someone accused him of coldness and arrogance, so much the better. No one had treated him respect and compassion. Why should he behave any differently?  
  
A treacherous thought winded into his brain. *Ah, but she has defended you more than once, has she not?*  
  
He scowled in impotent rage. To be saved by Lily Evans, to be relieved by a Mudblood. . . How could a Slytherin stand the humiliation? What would the other Slytherin fellows say? It was almost as though he were in her debt. Worse, he grudgingly admitted to himself that he admired her. For a Mudblood, her magical powers sometimes surpassed those of a pureblood. She was also level-headed enough not to succumb to Potter's supposed charms like so many other empty-headed females in the school. She was shrewd to expose Potter as the conceited person he truly was. If only she were not a Mudblood!  
  
He had never wholly known about Mudbloods until he entered Hogwarts. In desperation, he seized and loathed them with a fiery passion that astonished even himself. Being in Slytherin, he felt all the more justified for his attitude. He avoided the fact that such prejudices were ungrounded and petty. He needed, wanted something to cling to, a focal point to show his own direction as he risked being lost in the wilderness, a conviction to grasp at when he found himself regarded no more than a git to be swatted away. He had to believe he was not the lowliest of wizards. He had often prided himself in his supreme knowledge and deft hand in Potions and Charms, particularly the Dark Arts. They were his protection and the source of consternation among his peers. If Potter had honour and challenged him to a duel, he was prepared and certain he was able to blast Potter into ashes in less than six exchanges of spells and hexes.  
  
Oh, how he hungered for revenge.  
  
'Severus?'  
  
He jumped visibly at the sudden invasion of his introspection. Hastily wiping his whole face and arranging his clothes, he turned to face Professor Albus Dumbledore stonily. 'May I help you Headmaster?' He was absurdly gratified to note that his voice was low and steady.  
  
Dumbledore sat beside him. He fought hard not to flinch when the Headmaster touched him on his shoulder. He had never experienced physical gentleness in his childhood or youth and had come to the conclusion that he would not receive it.  
  
To his chagrin, he saw that his reaction to the kindly gesture did not escape Dumbledore. He saw the old wizard's eyes dim and a flash of resentment spread across him. Dumbledore was one of the few who did not view him as an oddball. He gritted his teeth at the unwelcome remembrance. Initially, he had reached out to Dumbledore like a drowning child, desiring approval and a father figure. It had not taken him long to know to whom Dumbledore's preferences lay. His disappointment overwhelmed him occasionally. Dumbledore was just another old man biased toward his Gryffindors.  
  
'Severus, I have spoken to James and Sirius. It was. . . incorrect on their part. I have told them to apologise to you.'  
  
He merely nodded. As usual, Potter and Black were left unpunished, and they would cast the insincere apology during dinner in the Great Hall like a worthless rag.  
  
'Severus, I had hoped that all of you would be on amicable terms by now.'  
  
The fool.  
  
Dumbledore's eyes were filled with unexpected compassion and guilt that he had to turn his head away toward the windows. No, he must not be swayed. He resisted the urge to fling himself on his bed and weep in Dumbledore's sight. His back was tensely rigid.  
  
He heard the professor sigh.  
  
True. What was there to say that could possibly heal his wounds and comfort him?  
  
He waited for Dumbledore to leave. Only then did he allow himself to relax. He froze when the door opened once more. This time, it was Lucius Malfoy who stepped in.  
  
'Snape. I knew I'd find you hiding here.'  
  
He spat immediately, 'I'm not hiding! I'm studying!'  
  
Malfoy shrugged nonchalently. Settling himself on his bed opposite his, Malfoy said casually, 'Really Snape, you have to practise disguising your emotion or you'll never be able to persuade anyone of what you say convincingly.'  
  
'You just like to listen to yourself talk.'  
  
He did not like Malfoy, or the other Slytherins if truth be told. He found them as conceited as Potter and they neglected important studies such as the subtler arts of Potions and Arithmancy, concentrating on the more showy fields like those of Charms. Nonetheless, they were competent at what they did. And they left him alone to his antics most of the time.  
  
He controlled himself and used a personal tactic that he had honed over the years and had not failed him.  
  
He drawled silkily, to all appearances bored. 'What do you want Malfoy?'  
  
He saw approval lit up in those grey eyes and felt ridiculously pleased but did not reveal it.  
  
Malfoy replied him in the same manner, 'Potter and his gang will not leave gloating after what they've done to you. I'll make sure of that.'  
  
Using Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt.  
  
He simply repeated, 'What do you want Malfoy?'  
  
'Dear, dear, quite prickly today, aren't we?'  
  
He did not rise to the bait. He waited for Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy spoke patiently. 'It is a waste no one sees you for the intelligence and your many talents Snape. You should leave for a better world, where real wizards revere you and treat you as an equal.'  
  
'Do you intend for me to work in the Muggle world?' he retaliated sardonically. Nevertheless, his curiousity was piqued.  
  
'Nonsense.' Malfoy paused for dramatic effect. Intoning conspiratorially, he asked, 'Have you heard of Lord Voldemort?'  
  
The name was familiar. He inclined his head in the affirmative.  
  
'Excellent. You should know he and my father have formed an alliance ever since I was in first year.'  
  
'Indeed?' Polite interest.  
  
'Yes. They have decided that they have been ruled by fools for too long. There will be a new order. They plan to accomplish this seemingly formidable task,' Malfoy leant forward eagerly, 'They will succeed Snape. Soon, what magic forbidden for fear of abuse can be used again, and the wizarding world will be rid of the filth it is being filled with.'  
  
'Filth?'  
  
'Mudbloods, halfbloods. . . Those who do not deserve to share our resources, history and culture. They will be segregated, and suitably. . . banished to the ranks they belong to.'  
  
He was fascinated by what he heard. He began to crave for this order which could bring confusion and useless bureaucracy to an end.  
  
Malfoy continued, 'My father and Lord Voldemort have heard about you Snape. So, I am hereby instructed to extend an invitation to you as one of the youngest members in this organisation. We shall work together. You should think it an honour Snape. These wizards are not easily impressed and you happen to fall in the minority category.' Finishing, Malfoy raised his hand.  
  
He was deeply tempted. Here, outside Hogwarts were two powerful men who had heard of him. Not only that, they recognised his merits and wanted him to help them. All of a sudden, there was a goal in life, a truly ambitious goal to aim for. He did not have to fret about finding work after graduating due to his dysfunctional family background.  
  
He said carefully, 'And if I refuse?'  
  
'I will Obliviate you and we shall part ways. Be warned, that you've always been under relative protection in school at my command. The Slytherins, at least, do not attack you. But if you decline this generous offer, I'm afraid even that veil will be removed.'  
  
He smiled enigmatically. Staring into Malfoy's eyes, he took the other's hand. 'Very well, we have a deal.'  
  
Malfoy laughed, 'Wonderful. Now let's discuss how we're going to pay back the Gryffindors for what they've done to you.'  
  
He grinned. Let the serpent strike back at the lion now. 


	2. Comprehension

Chapter 2: Comprehension  
  
Fool.  
  
He was fortune's fool.  
  
He buried his head into his hands in helpless anguish.  
  
Why was he so foolish to commit himself to such a terrible cause? He had hailed it to be the greatest work he had ever done when he had first stepped into Lord Voldemort's organisation. He had admired Voldemort, gasped in delight and awe at the powerful wizard's immense strength and skills. His charisma had engaged him, enticed him with visions of a new order, a new world where he would have had been responsible in creating. Here was one whom he had thought was brilliance incarnate. Voldemort's logic had flawless, and he had wrapped the cause with eagerness and pride. To be a part of such a worthy cause. . .  
  
An empty thing he had now realised. A false, repulsive, disgusting thing.  
  
A dream, a vision, a madness that would never pass!  
  
He sank deeper and faster into the gaping hole in his mind's eye. He knew he was working himself into intense despair and desperation but he could not care less. Indeed, he secretly wished the emotions he had once suppressed ruthlessly would surface with a vengeance and submerge him into nothingness. He could thus escape Voldemort, Malfoy, the loathsome activities they were involved in and ultimately, himself.  
  
Where else could he turn to, or hide away in?  
  
He cried out involuntarily when his Dark Mark tingled in his arm. He had recently acquired it when Voldemort's aims were made clearer as he had spoken to the members, treating them as his servants. Oh, the Malfoys had protested, but they knew when they were defeated. Particularly after Voldemort had dispatched Malfoy senior to St. Mungo's with a single curse.  
  
No one dared dispute as to whom would lead the group since.  
  
This was the first time Voldemort had used the Dark Mark to summon or call them. It did not hurt yet he felt it penetrate his soul painfully. He was unable to attribute the latter to a physical byproduct or a figment of his imagination. It was imprinted resolutely in his arm, this small, ugly scar that seared him within and forced him to recoil instinctively whenever he saw it.  
  
Months ago, he would have taken it willingly, even feverishly. In his desire for acceptance and a longing for circumstances in the wizarding world to improve, he had allowed his addled brain to deliberately work against him and choose to ignore all the disturbing signals and warnings. He was a simpleton not to see through Voldemort's visage and the real meaning of the organisation.  
  
Now the mark reminded him relentlessly that he had enslaved himself to one of the most chillingly fearsome masters. It was as though it sealed his fate in. He was forever tainted with the ties he had with Voldemort and the horrors he had plunged himself in whilst carrying out curt orders.  
  
And the name applied to them. . . Death-Eaters. Voldemort possessed an obsessive streak of morbid fear for death. He, on the other hand, did not know whether to laugh at the ridiculous term or weep at this additional nail driven into his coffin.  
  
Amidst his dawning comprehension and ensuing frustration, he wondered at his luck to master Occlumency at a young age. It was his shield against everyone. It saved him countless times when Voldemort interrogated him to test his loyalties. No one was to be trusted. He could not seek help for certain knowledge of betrayal. He felt more isolated than he was in Hogwarts, with nowhere to turn and no end in sight.  
  
The Mark tingled persistantly. Fury filled him an instant when he wanted to lash out at it. Then, the gloom of doom overcame him. Shakily, he got up and changed into his uniform. He stared at the faceless mask in his pale hands for several moments. It was just an extension to the charade he was playing at present. He gritted his teeth and put it on, feeling the cold steel bite into his own mask.  
  
He Apparated and found himself in a patch of field with three fellow Death- Eaters, situated outside a familiar-looking house.  
  
His spirits sank. It was Professor Flitwick's home from Hogwarts. He recalled seeing the pictures in school. Someone pushed him forward. He spun round to see Lucius' frame.  
  
He gestured frantically to the house, whispering, 'What are we supposed to do?'  
  
'Flitwick's developing a charm to counter the Imperius spell. We're to stop him.'  
  
'How?' he asked, stupidly.  
  
Apparently, Malfoy had the same thought too. Malfoy's eyes, the only features to be seen, glinted with scorn. 'What else?' the wizard said malevolently. 'Avada Kedavra.'  
  
Of course. The Killing Curse. What else?  
  
How much more blood would he have on his conscience before he was hounded out by the Ministry and put to Azkaban? In his childhood and youth, he had always been intrigued by the forbidden arts. Later, his fascination grew as he learnt more about them in stealth. It had exhilarated him to think he knew impressive things others did not. However, to study them and to use them were vastly different.  
  
He had first tasted torture and death when he was twenty-one, a year ago. It was his first mission. To him, it was nothing more. Yes, he had frowned at it, but it was simply a means to an end, a greater good.  
  
Gradually though, he had realised what was wrong. Or rather, the truth had come slamming onto his body, literally. He had stared into the glassy eyes of one victim, which was flung to him during one of their raids, and with a jolt of shock he had seen the body to be that of John Russell's, a Muggleborn previously in Hufflepuff. He had begun to see individual victims, acknowledging their past. He had begun to question the prejudices of so-called purebloods and Mudbloods. He had concluded they were no different. He had realised he was devoid of morals, no more superior to his partners who lusted for blood and hungered for pain.  
  
They like it, he had thought numbly, they find pleasure in indulgence.  
  
Malfoy shook him out of his reverie. 'You're no use to us Snape if you just stand there.'  
  
Soul laden with guilt and fear, he walked into the house after the wards were deactivated.  
  
His mouth twisted when he stepped into the intimately warm domestic scene in the living room. Professor Flitwick was playing with his grandchildren whilst the elderly Mrs. Flitwick sat near the fireplace talking quietly to her daughter-in-law. Envy, fear, anger, worry and a myriad of emotions fought for dominion in his turbulent soul, finally to be replaced by the all-too familiar and unwelcome feeling of sorrow.  
  
Two men surged forward without hesitation and rounded the two ladies.  
  
He wished he could close his ears to shut out the screaming.  
  
Professor Flitwick hurriedly gathered the tots. For such a tiny man, he moved fast and smooth. Drawing his wand out, he Stunned one of them. The latter immediately collapsed.  
  
He watched as Malfoy cast the Killing Curse rapidly. Professor Flitwick squeaked furiously. Both were locked in a duel in close proximity.  
  
'You!' shouted Malfoy to him. 'Come on!'  
  
He remained rooted on the spot.  
  
Professor Flitwick moved to his wife in an attempt to rescue her. Malfoy cast a hex, forcing the Charms professor to take coverage under a table further back.  
  
'You want her?' Malfoy spat, 'Fine, have her!' Malfoy turned to her.  
  
He knew what Malfoy would do.  
  
'No!' he cried. Improvising, he said, 'Behind you!'  
  
Malfoy turned back. It must be a miracle when Professor Flitwick's son happened to rush into the room in that moment.  
  
Chastising himself, he lifted his wand to prove to Malfoy that he was helping. Two fought two now, although he seemed to be the only person reluctant in this match of life and death. The warning signals had been sounded in the Ministry as soon as they had barged into the house. As time wore off, he and Malfoy knew they could not remain any longer. Malfoy cursed and made a sign of departure to him. He understood.  
  
Together, they abandoned their third man and Apparated to Voldemort's headquarters.  
  
'You have failed,' the Dark Lord said softly after hearing Malfoy's account, which contained an accusation against him at every opportunity.  
  
He stiffened. He wondered if he would be found to have betrayed them.  
  
'Crucio.'  
  
He heard Malfoy scream in agony as he continued crouching before their master. He was absolutely still.  
  
'Severus,' Voldemort spoke up again. 'Do you deny what Lucius has reported?'  
  
'No, my lord.' He shivered at his boldness. Perhaps he really was beyond care. He was utterly broken in spirit and will. He was sick and tired of being sick and tired. He deserved punishment, any form of punishment, to ease his burden that was his conscience.  
  
'You disappoint me. I had high hopes for you.'  
  
He wanted to sob, wanted to clamour to Voldemort's side and beg forgiveness. He wanted someone to tell him it was all right, that there was a haven he could rest and belong to. He wanted it to be over.  
  
'Look up Severus.'  
  
He obeyed in surprise. He felt Voldemort's searching gaze.  
  
'Do you know your purpose here Severus?'  
  
'To follow you and pledge my undying loyalty,' he blurted out.  
  
'Why did you not succeed tonight?'  
  
'I was weak my lord. I pray that you will forgive.'  
  
'No, Severus. I do not forgive, and I will not let you forget your dismal performance. Be sure to fulfil your duties the next time. Crucio.'  
  
He crumbled in a heap of relief and then the excruciating sensation of pain hit him.  
  
It took a few hours before he fully recovered.  
  
Lying on his bed, drained of physical and emotional strength, he contemplated suicide, but he knew it to be an act of cowardice. He snorted at the Gryffindor thought. Sighing, he pondered over his limited options. Deep in his heart, he had decided on the path to take long ago, ever since he arrived at his revelation.  
  
Albus Dumbledore.  
  
The old wizard was the only wise and powerful enough to challenge Voldemort.  
  
Until the whomping willow incident, he had always sought to attain the Headmaster's trust and affection. After that, he had given up and seized the only hand that extended to him, even if it was Voldemort's.  
  
He had to cast aside the harrowing experience in school and contain any petty and childish feeling if he intended to do what he needed to.  
  
He set out to Hogwarts. 


	3. Confession

Chapter 3: Confession  
  
'You.'  
  
'It was you.'  
  
The words were soft and layered with varying meanings that he, in his exhausted frame of mind, failed to grasp. He merely stared at the Headmaster warily.  
  
'When Professor Flitwick told me about the attack in his house and described to me his assailants, I thought it was you.'  
  
He was galvanised. 'Did you know I had already joined the Dark Lord?'  
  
Dumbledore hesitated, 'I had my suspicions. When I invited you to take on the Potions position in Hogwarts and you refused, I found it. . . odd.'  
  
He laughed harshly, 'Because you knew no one else would accept me, despite my results.'  
  
'Which are of course, outstanding. Few could be a Master of any subject, let alone Masters of Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms.'  
  
He waved his hand irritably and said acidly, 'We are not here to talk about my assets Headmaster, meager and unimpressive as they are to most people.'  
  
Dumbledore gave a disconcertingly sharp look at him. He hoped that the look he returned was nonchalant enough. Bad enough to reveal his bitterness at the treatment he received from the wizarding society. It would be terrible to show the hollowness filling inside him.  
  
Apparently, what Dumbledore saw pained him and caused his expression to sadden. 'Oh child.'  
  
Curiously, he did not begrudge the old wizard calling him a child. He wondered if he ever were a child, and caught himself being maudlin.  
  
Dumbledore continued in that infuriatingly wise (as it could only be described as such) voice of his, 'I had worried about you in school when I saw you consorting with Mr. Malfoy and the rest of his particular group. Yes, consorting. I am at least astute enough to know even by Slytherin standards, that Mr. Malfoy's is an elite group to which a member must prove himself worthy to join. I had thought, foolishly, that you would have learnt in time to understand the dire consequences. I forget that I myself have never experienced what it is like to be excluded from society and cannot rightly know what one does in these. . . conditions.'  
  
No, he thought grimly, You'll never know.  
  
It had been harder than he had calculated when he reached Dumbledore's office to spill out everything that he had done. He naturally knew it would be difficult for he was an intensely private man and hated the sense of invasion whenever someone scrutinised him too closely, yet the more he had told Dumbledore, the more he had found himself steeped in self-disgust. He was almost nauseous at some points when he spoke about the activities he had been assigned to accomplish.  
  
Gods, did he really do all those things?  
  
Small wonder that he felt drained of energy when he ended his account.  
  
He was conscious that Dumbledore was studying him even as he kept his eyes closed. He could not bear the burden of pity he believed he would see in that man's eyes.  
  
'Why did you do it?'  
  
Whatever he had expected, it was not this question. He felt his blood leave his face. Uncertain of what Dumbledore meant and how to tread such dangerous waters, he deliberately chose the less complicated way out. He said flippantly, 'Well, I thought that my explaination was sufficient. I had no idea that when the Dark Lord called on me, it was to be at Professor Flitwick's. . .'  
  
'That is not what I meant, and you know it.'  
  
His heart pounded too rapidly for his liking. His stomach lurched erratically in his lower portion of the body. He warned himself to stay calm and collected. He counted his blood pulse, willing it to decrease. When he spoke again, he cringed slightly at the reflection of his feelings in his voice. Ill-disguised rage and a deep sense of loss. He must really be weary to allow his emotions to seep out of him and betray him.  
  
'Why do you want to know?'  
  
'I want to understand,' said the Headmaster softly.  
  
The ludicrousness of the situation struck him. Here was the acknowledged greatest wizard in the whole world being cautious in his attitude toward a lowly minion of the Dark Lord. He laughed and took petty delight in seeing Dumbledore recoil. An empty pleasure, that was all that was left for him. Melancholy sank in.  
  
'Understand? That is very Gryffindor of you I'm sure.' Dumbledore looked as though he were slapped. 'Whereas I am a Slytherin. Did you think I took up alliances with Malfoy and ultimately the Dark Lord because of noble sentiments and holy aspirations?' He snorted at his fit of twisted humour. 'No sir, I am a small-minded, cowardly, selfish person. I never had support in my life. I did not have the approval of my father. My peers in school were not. . . kind. I could not gain respect or friendliness for being myself, so I seized whatever way I could to get them. I joined the Death- Eaters for small-minded, cowardly, selfish reasons.'  
  
There was a drawn-out pause when he finished.  
  
This is it, he thought, He's going to send me to Azkaban.  
  
Dumbledore nodded in resolution, 'If that were the case, why then did you come to me? Why do you want to leave the group? I am aware that you have given the whole, unvarnished truth. So, if you are small-minded, cowardly and selfish as you claim to be, what has brought you to me, to tell me everything?'  
  
He was rendered speechless. 'I don't know,' he replied honestly. At Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, he tried to phrase his answer coherently, 'I don't know why or when I had this turn. . . I suppose I wanted the world to change,' he admitted, 'I don't approve of the Ministry and its methods. I thought. . . the Dark Lord was different. Only, he wasn't. I discovered this along the way. . . Please don't ask me to go into details. It's of no importance here. And then I saw nothing but the craving for power in every Death-Eater. We use each other to get what we want. . . And I also realised my error in judging my ability for.detachment of emotion and taste for torture. The victims. . . affected me. I didn't think I could care so much. I found myself. . . wrong.' It was all he managed to say.  
  
'I see. What do you plan to do now?'  
  
His amazement must have registered on his face for Dumbledore's appearance softened. 'My dear boy, do you think I'll call the Aurors?'  
  
Yes, that was what he thought.  
  
'Azkaban is for those who know no remorse. I know you will not harm another again. What purpose then is there to bring a repentant man to Azkaban? I for one will not do it.'  
  
This evening was a tumultuous time of inexplicable turns and jolts. He felt his throat constrict in gratitude.  
  
Dumbledore went on. 'Yet you are still in a precarious position. You have no wish to work for Voldemort anymore but if you do not return, I fear you will be hunted down and punished.'  
  
'I will be killed,' he said flatly. So much for leaving his demons behind. Gritting his teeth as he steadied himself, he proposed, 'What if I return as a spy? Will I be of use to you and your resistance group in this way?'  
  
'You will do that?' He noted that Dumbledore did not seem surprised.  
  
He shrugged, 'It's all that I can do.'  
  
'I can hide you away until this war is over. I promise that you will be safe.'  
  
'That is not necessary. I have made my offer and plan to fulfil it if you agree to it.'  
  
He wondered if he was imagining the shine in the Headmster's eyes.  
  
'Very well. I'm confident you have the capabilities to convince Voldemort of your supposed loyalties. Thank you Severus. You'll be of valuable aid to us.'  
  
He tilted his head in mock salutation. He was bound now to do it. He had disappointed himself. He would not disappoint the only person he now recognised as ever having been kind to him in his life.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, 'An apology is necessary, if we are to be at peace with each other.'  
  
He spoke up immediately, 'Of course Headmaster. I wish to convey my.' He stopped when Dumbledore raised a frail, thin hand freckled by old age.  
  
'No, Severus. You misunderstand. I am the one who has to apologise.'  
  
What?  
  
Dumbledore was visibly struggling, to his increasing astonishment, 'I feel that I have neglected my own responsibility, to look after the well-being of every student, not least yourself Severus. I deliberately shut my eyes to what James and Sirius did to you. I should be there for you, as I was with Sirius when he lured you to Remus.'  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, 'I do not need protecting Headmaster.'  
  
'Granted. You were more than skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts and you were not totally innocent yourself. But James and Sirius should also take the blame for what they've done, yet I have not sounded them out properly. It is a failing, I see that now.'  
  
He gaped at Dumbledore who was renowned for being infallible.  
  
'You never had any guidance in this world, even as a child. You should have had someone. But you worked your own path without help, without understanding. You could have fallen into the abyss. I would have despaired. But you climbed back out. You alone saved yourself. It takes considerable courage to learn your mistake, more so to arrange this. risking of yourself to help the world which you owe nothing to and which may owe its salvation to you. I'm proud of you.'  
  
Dumbledore got up from his seat and placed his hand on his shoulder. He froze in shock at the warm gesture. When people touched him, they were almost certainly tormenting him or wounding him.  
  
'I'm sorry Severus. I'm truly sorry.' The hurt in that grand wizard's voice was unmistakably sincere.  
  
Something broke within him. Pain pierced through his heart and guts as though it were corporeal. He began shivering.  
  
Weak, he scolded himself, Weak!  
  
Dumbledore reached forward to embrace him. It was the sorrow pouring out from those clear blue eyes that prevented him from pushing Dumbledore completely. Instead, he instinctively pressed his back against the chair. He shook his head mutely, trying to convey to the man opposite him that he was not ready for comfort. He was afraid that he would break down in Dumbledore's arms.  
  
Dumbledore understood. Straightening his body, he watched gravely as the younger wizard continued shivering. He wondered if he would ever be warm again.  
  
~***~  
  
Author's Note:  
  
frozenfemale: Hi there! If the story seems to lack warmth, it's because it's written from Snape's POV. He's not a warm person and doesn't view himself with self-pity or self-compassion, at least in my opinion. Instead, he's filled with self-loathing, hence a ruthless ability to detach himself from humanity and all its attachments. He also doesn't express emotions well or wants to express them at all. Hope that explains it.  
  
And thanks for everyone's reviews! 


	4. Evasion

Chapter 4: Evasion  
  
Danger.  
  
That was what filled his life now, danger.  
  
Not that he could complain. He deserved it. The four years were the longest in his life, but Fate was kind to him. He wondered that his constitution had not broken. Maybe his strength would dissipate at the end of the war and he would die with no regrets, paying for what he had done previously. He prayed that it would be so.  
  
The Dark Lord had increased immeasurably in power and influence. His followers were building in numbers and the terror was more and more widespread. Voldemort was getting more ambitious and impatient.  
  
'Abomination!' was the most frequent word that screamed out of the front covers of every newspaper and magazine. Everywhere he turned, heads were ducked or gathered together to speculate about the darkest wizard to arrive ever since the one that Albus Dumbledore had defeated years ago. This time, there was substantial fear that it was more difficult to vanquish the new, faceless and foulest foe.  
  
Until recently, there had been whispers of this unknown Lord Voldemort and his men who were called Death-Eaters. Sympathisers to the former's cause clamoured to join them. Arguments erupted over whether Voldemort was a curse or a blessing. True, some attested, Voldemort's methods were somewhat unorthodox, but they were for the better good. Others protested at the invasion of privacy and disruption of security. Then, as the Dark Lord's power grew steadily, the two camps became more and more driven apart. There was awe on one side and fear on the other, and both extended to such an extremity that the only thing they agreed on was the unwritten rule not to mention his name, if for different reasons. Lord Voldemort the entity became You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named the presence. So choking was his grip over the wizarding world that even the hardiest would pale whenever any accident was reported, however minute or insignificant it was. Such was the reputation of the Dark Lord, that every incident must be linked to him.  
  
He himself wanted to wring his hands at the sympathisers. They were making the same mistake as he did. He wanted to yell at them and show them the truth behind the lies of the Dark Lord. As his master became ostensibly more invincible, the darkness of his despair intensified and deepened. His gut lurched at the memory of the recent raiding of St. Mungo's. The smell of blood and rotting flesh lingered in his senses for a whole night. And the brutality and sickness of the activities the Death-Eaters indulged in. He thought he would not forget those girl's eyes as they stared into his while Nott raped her in the goriest way possible. Pleading, then pain, then nothing as she finally bled to death.  
  
He groaned. Despite the help he gave Albus, it was evident they were on the losing end.  
  
Albus. . . they were on a first-name basis now. The years of a Death-Eater did what the years of a student did not. They brought them together and made them embark on a partnership that was initially based on mutual aid, then tentative faith and finally true friendship, the kind that he had never experienced before. It was a joy in itself, to have someone one could trust unconditionally. Although he was still immensely secretive and did not disclose his thoughts or feelings as much as Albus, the Headmaster understood and respected him, which was another thing he had never before gained. The Dark Lord and his fellow Death-Eaters used him to achieve their own end. What was more, Albus received his undying gratitude for absolving him enough the first time to let him choose his own path and make his decision out of his second chance. Albus had taught him more about life in these years than he had ever learnt. He knew he would not be an optimistic man like Albus, but he was able to acknowledge the essential fact that life was what a person made it out to be. It was hard, and he sometimes caught Albus looking at him with worry. He knew the reason because Albus constantly reminded him of it.  
  
'Don't hate yourself Severus,' Albus had said sadly, in one of countless conversations.  
  
He did not know how to respond to that. How was one to stop loathing oneself, especially when one was justified to do so? Even if he now worked for the light, he felt he would not be able to repay all his debts and redeem himself. He was tired and dreaded the day when the Dark Lord would expose him as a traitor, a spy. Then all his efforts would be lost. Each time he arrived before the Dark Lord, he prepared himself mentally. Somehow, he managed to escape alive, if not healthy. Heavens knew how many times he had to swallow his pride and seek Albus' help in healing him. Thank goodness there was Poppy Pomfrey, the skilled mediwitch to turn to. She and Albus were the only ones privy to him being the spy in the Death-Eaters ranks.  
  
Coupled to that was the balancing act he had to accomplish in his everyday life. After the capture of a few worthless Death-Eaters who were 'caught' because the Dark Lord had no use for them or was displeased with them, Slytherins were the focus of the blaming ritual. The grand name of Slytherin was besmirched almost overnight. Prejudice, once rooted, was nearly impossible to destroy. Witches and wizards alike avoided Slytherins and former Slytherin students found greater difficulty in finding work. In Hogwarts, Slytherins were mocked and ridiculed, particularly by Gryffindors.  
  
Many knew of his background and connections to some more notorious Slytherins. He had to be careful not to react to every accusation made in his face, most of them ungrounded but nonetheless wounding his pride. Pride for himself and pride for Slytherin. Sometimes, officials from the Ministry 'visited' him, on the pretext of receiving complaints which he did not report regarding the state of his house. They would check every corner and leave disappointed.  
  
Still, time was fast slipping and Albus' force was running out of options. The Ministry was in a worse state than them, having no coherent strategy or foresight.  
  
Albus himself was getting tensed, always a sign of distress.  
  
As if on cue, Albus' head suddenly floated in his fireplace.  
  
'Severus, if you are free, which I hope you are, please come to my office now.'  
  
'Of course.' He disliked using the Floo network, but it was efficient.  
  
When he stepped into Albus' office, he greeted the sole occupant besides himself.  
  
'Hello, Fawkes.'  
  
It always amazed him to see the phoenix genuinely pleased to see him. Fawkes promptly flew to his shoulder and gave him a peck.  
  
'I'm fine. See? There's no need for your tears today, precious as they are.'  
  
Fawkes gave a huff and pecked again, this time harder, and hence more painful.  
  
'Ow!'  
  
'That is not the usual way one welcomes a familiar face Severus.' Albus smiled as he walked into the room.  
  
He rubbed his cheek and glared at Fawkes who had flown to Albus and back to his perch. 'I'm not certain I like him newly reborn Albus. He's too frisky at the moment,' Albus chuckled. 'What is it that you've asked me to come here for?' It had to be important or his mentor would not have called for him. It was risky.  
  
'James and Lily are settled in their new place. You ought to know.'  
  
'I see.' His mood darkened. Whilst he felt no enmity toward Evans, the rage he possessed toward Potter would not abate. He also knew it was childish jealousy that was adding to his hatred for Potter. It was incredulous though, that those two got married. Not that he cared, but it was curious.  
  
'They have their Secret Keeper.'  
  
'Of course. The Dark Lord will not be happy, but it is expected. Ever since he heard about the prophesy, he's been obsessed by it. You know, it need not be Potter's son, Harry, is it Harry?' At Albus' nod, he continued, 'Anyway, it may be the Longbottoms'.' He sank into reverie for a while as he bemoaned the loss of two fine minds. He had wanted to rescue them but that bitch Lestrange was too much a favourite of the Dark Lord's. It was too late to save them when he had the opportunity. They had succumbed to the repeated doses of the Cruciatus curse. Twisted, sadistic, Lestrange.  
  
Albus spoke up, 'The point is that Voldemort (he tried not to wince) chose Harry as his equal. Strange how Voldemort chooses Harry, isn't it?'  
  
'Not that strange, but I suppose that was a rhetorical question.' It had been a revelation to know the Dark Lord's true heritage. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, but a halfblood as well. He shook his head. Must a person fall prey to bitterness against the world as a result of his upbringing?  
  
'That is why we have to protect the Potters,' said Albus.  
  
He nodded his head.  
  
'I'm glad you have not let your feelings for James affect your dedication in the Order. I wish James can react better,' said Albus regrettably. 'He doesn't know who you are of course, but when he heard that our informant is a. . .'  
  
'Death-Eater,' he contributed colourlessly.  
  
'James was outraged.'  
  
He shrugged, 'Well, you can't blame him, though I'd like you to. I have the advantage of a whole world's experience of containing emotion throughout my life while he doesn't.'  
  
Albus looked at him sharply, then said sadly, 'Yes, you have. Severus, I'm arranging a meeting between you and Lily.'  
  
He raised his eyebrow in surprise, 'Pray tell why.'  
  
'I need you to administer a potion for her. Her magical strength has been weakened after her birth and it needs to be enhanced. You'll have to see her to know what is required in the potion. She is discreet Severus. I trust she will not tell anyone your identity, including James.'  
  
'I see. Oh dear,' he smiled wryly, 'Potter will not like this.'  
  
'He will not know of your meeting.'  
  
'Where are we meeting? Surely not at their hide-out?'  
  
'By no means. We'll have it here.  
  
So it was that Severus found himself face to face with Lily Evans and her son two evenings later.  
  
'He does look like James, doesn't he?' Evans said softly when he expressed astonishment at seeing Potter junior.  
  
Too much for his comfort. 'He does,' he suppressed his scowl. Then again. . .  
  
'He has your eyes.'  
  
'Everyone says that.' Evans turned to the boy, 'This is Mr. Severus Snape, Harry. He's going to help us, so you must be thankful.'  
  
It was surreal to be in a mother-son session. He snorted, hence startling the other two.  
  
'I owe Potter a debt Mrs. Potter.' He alluded to the Whomping Willow incident, wondering if she knew about it.  
  
She simply said, 'I prefer Lily.'  
  
'Very well,' he did not take up the offer. 'I think we should begin straightaway.'  
  
It took him a week to detect and confirm her weak areas and find a suitable agent for her body. By then, he was slightly exhausted, for he had to carry out his experiments in the dead of the night to prevent rousing anyone's suspicion. When Evans took the potion from him, she was alone.  
  
'Thank you, may I call you Severus?'  
  
'I shall tolerate it since we seldom meet.'  
  
She looked at him thoughtfully, 'You've gained in confidence since your school days. You look so much older.' Nature had not seen it fit to bless him with favourable looks and he did not bother about his appearance. He said blandly, 'I'm twenty-three Mrs. Potter. It's a long six years.'  
  
'It must be.' There was something in her eyes, something like what he saw in Albus', something akin to compassion. He recalled the days when she was the only one who defended him. He never thanked her for it, and he was reluctant to bring it up now.  
  
'Take care Severus. We live in uncertain times.'  
  
She smiled and Apparated. It was the last time he saw her smile.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Got a yahoo domain where I keep fanstuff. Not much there yet, just some pictures and fanfic that can be found here too. It's a precaution in case fanfiction.net gets hung up or something. Hopefully, I can get my fanart posted soon. 


	5. Apprehension

Chapter 5: Apprehension  
  
Treachery.  
  
He did not before think that among Albus' forces, someone would commit treachery.  
  
Circumstances proved him terribly wrong, for he was standing among the Death-Eaters facing Voldemort and his very own informant. His head was spinning with one conjecture after the other with the speed of a Snitch, each more horrendous than the one before.  
  
Traitor versus traitor. What kind of sick, twisted irony was this?  
  
How long had this spy, he could not identify the person since he, or she, was wearing a mask too, been working for the Dark Lord? When did this person turn? Before or after he himself switched sides? His heart leapt. If the Dark Lord was correct to say that this. . . double-crosser was a highly ranked member of Albus' order, would he not know that there was a Death- Eater in his own troops who was betraying him? Voldemort showed no such sign of knowledge, which in itself was assuring, though it meant nothing.  
  
'My loyal followers. . .' said the Dark Lord softly, with a trace of disapproval lurking beneath the light tone, 'For months, we have consistently worked towards our ultimate goal. Soon, the Ministry will fall into our hands. . .' He paused, and was evidently pleased when the Death- Eaters mumbled and cheered enthusiastically.  
  
He had learnt long ago that Voldemort was a vain wizard who thrived on fervent support and flattery. In a way, he mused, it was a sort of reverse psychology. Voldemort had supreme confidence in his abilities, but as a result of his past, he had suffered from ridicule so much that he needed to prove himself. He strove for the world to know and fear his name. He needed everyone to know he was right.  
  
It was also a reason why each major gathering that involved all members was recorded. This time, it was his turn to take the daunting task of writing down every syllable that their master uttered. Such was the wizard's sheer vanity. Voldemort went on, and his displeasure became more apparent, 'However, our progress would have been much swifter, if it were not for the old fool Albus Dumbledore.'  
  
His words sank in and the Death-Eaters stirred uncomfortably.  
  
'For months, I have instructed each of you to infiltrate his ranks, to find out what he was doing. For months, I have insisted that we had to crush that resistance. Now, Dumbledore is still standing, and as I understand, he is better equipped and more powerful than before. Have you done anything to stop him?' The glacial voice seemed to chill many, including his. He tried to recite mundane ingredients of a simple potion to calm himself and concentrated on writing.  
  
One Death-Eater surged forth and lay in front of the Dark Lord. 'Master,' he whimpered, 'forgive our uselessness.' He stole a glance and caught that of Lucius Malfoy's. From the gleam he read in those grey eyes, he could tell that they both had the same idea. Goyle was dense not to grasp their master's character by now.  
  
Voldemort sneered and gave the trembling figure a vicious kick. He heard a few ribs crack as his former schoolmate howled.  
  
Voldemort spoke as though nothing had interrupted him, 'Yet, my followers, Lord Voldemort is not without his cunning and resources. My powers and name prove themselves always that I'll emerge victorious. Here, as I've introduced to all of you, is our spy in Dumbledore's very own secret group. They call themselves,' here he smirked, 'the Order of the Phoenix.' He said mockingly, 'Well, this phoenix may die, but it will not resurrect itself.'  
  
Several Death-Eaters snickered. Some pealed with laughter.  
  
It cannot be. He had to prevent this. He had to warn Albus. Albus could not die.  
  
'Think of a fallen Dumbledore, crumpled at my feet,' Voldemort's almost dreamy voice caused him to grimace. He sat stock still as he continued listening. 'With the help of my recent valuable aid,' he placed a hand on the person besides him, who jumped slightly at the contact.  
  
'This brave wizard shall be duly rewarded. Not only is he helping me to bring down Dumbledore, he will start by guiding me to the Potters. My followers, let me present you, the Potters' Secret Keeper.' Voldemort chuckled in amusement at everyone's stunned reaction.  
  
His first reaction was the single thought 'No.'. Yet he knew the Dark Lord did not lie in these matters. The latter wanted everyone to know how invincible he was. Besides, he was a cynical man, disillusioned with human nature, thus he was not all that shocked that someone Albus trusted could stab him in the back. The question was, who could it be?  
  
He heard his name called.  
  
Five Death-Eaters, including himself, remained after the others dispersed. Voldemort stood closer to them.  
  
'We will go to the Potters' hide-out tonight.' The Dark Lord pointed to three of them, 'You will surround the house. The rest will follow me in. And remember, I shall be the one who kills the infant.'  
  
He said in a fit of desperation, 'My Lord, should we not be better prepared? Perhaps we should find out if the Potters are alone in their home. . .' He quelled under the snake-like eyes.  
  
'I am always ready Severus.' Voldemort ended the discussion which barely started, 'There is no one else there. I will Apparate with my informant first. All of you will be summoned to join me.'  
  
It was an indication of Voldemort's impatience and eagerness that he was not punished for contradicting him.  
  
How did things take place so fast? Without catching the eye of the others, his daft hands conjured up another piece of paper. Thank Merlin it was his duty tonight after all. Pretending to collect the papers as the others arranged what they were to do amongst themselves, he scribbled hurriedly. [V. knows. Potters' SK. Help now.] With that he grabbed a passing owl, and whispered, 'Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. And I'll wring your bony neck if you don't do it in ten minutes.' The owl hooted in fright and flew off.  
  
'Snape, are you done? What're you doing with the owl?' Karkaroff strode to him.  
  
'The Ministry sent me another slip to say they're coming to my place again,' said he in genuine irritation. He tried to stall for time.  
  
The older man shrugged carelessly. 'We must endure it.' Then both their Marks glowed black. 'Come, our master awaits.'  
  
When they appeared at the house, he realised with a jolt that it was Godric's Hollow.  
  
Indeed, where else would the Potters hide?  
  
'Come,' Voldemort said. His guts twisted at the lust vibrating in the voice as the hunter closed in on his prey. He looked about anxiously. Why had no one arrived?  
  
What happened next was like a dream sequence, one disconnected from the other. He broke through the wards and crashed into the place with Voldemort. He heard Potter shout in anger. He saw him strike at Voldemort while he yelled, 'Lily! Go with Harry! Go!' He heard a woman scream. Seizing the chance when Voldemort was engaged in a duel with Potter, he rushed up the stairs. As he did, he heard Potter spit in rage, 'You were a Marauder!' He might have been mistaken by the term. It could be a code, or an unknown insult. Soon, he heard a man squeal in fear and the familiar 'pop' of someone who had disapparated. The traitor had left them to their own devices. He gritted his teeth. The coward would be dealt with later.  
  
He rushed down the hallway above, looking about frantically while he murmured more spells to cast about the rooms to hold the other Death-Eaters back for a while. Down the path, he spotted light flickering in one room. Evans was holding up the boy when he reached the nursery.  
  
'No!' she flung her wand out and was going to attack when he said, 'Mrs. Potter, Lily, hush, it's I.'  
  
'Severus?' Evans' green eyes widened and were brimming with tears, 'How. . .'  
  
'Can you Apparate?'  
  
'Not without leaving Harry.'  
  
'I'll levitate you both to the ground. Careful, there are two of us outside.'  
  
They went to the window.  
  
'Hurry,' he said, 'I. . .' Then he and Evans froze in horror when Voldemort and another Death-Eater crashed into the room.  
  
He shoved her through the window, screaming, 'Bitch! You wish to die? All right, I'll grant you. . .'  
  
'Severus, stand aside.'  
  
He disobeyed his master. They were almost out of the window. . .  
  
'Crucio.'  
  
He collapsed in excruciating pain. The fury of Voldemort added to the power of the curse. The pain lasted longer than it usually was. He lay on the floor when it was over, powerless to stop the inevitable. He could barely lift his head and was panting harshly.  
  
Evans and her child were instantly brought back into the room. Voldemort glided triumphantly towards them.  
  
'One has to wonder. . . how a child of a Mudblood can defeat Lord Voldemort.' The Dark Lord's tongue licked his lips in anticipation, 'So easy to rid. . .'  
  
'Please, please, don't hurt my child.' Evans begged.  
  
'Your husband is dead. It'll be wise to let me have what I want. I guarantee you can leave unscathed.'  
  
She saw through his deception. 'Never! Kill me, but not Harry.'  
  
'Woman, I am tired of this. Avada Kedavra.'  
  
Through blurred eyes, he saw her limp on the floor. The boy wailed loudly in her arms.  
  
No.  
  
Was this the end? After years of war, was this how it would be finished?  
  
'Avada Kedavra.'  
  
Another blast of green light flashed. He closed his eyes haplessly.  
  
No.  
  
Deadly quietness followed. Then his ears registered the crying of a baby and the shout of his fellow Death-Eater. He opened his eyes wearily.  
  
Strange how the mind and body worked differently even under dire conditions. Numb disbelief wrecked the former when he saw the almighty Voldemort vanish and the boy still intact, albeit with a bleeding forehead. The latter scoffed at the anti-climax of the situation.  
  
They were safe. Relief washed over him. They were not lost. And was it his sensitised imagination, or did he hear Albus' voice commanding his own men to help in the fight?  
  
Feebly he picked himself up and aimed at the other man whilst he was still in shock. 'Stupefy!'  
  
The Death-Eater immediately slumped to the ground.  
  
Another bout of pain hit him and this time, he fainted.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Snivellus: Thanks for all the uplifting reviews. I really appreciate them. The reason why I update so late is because I write slow. =) That in turn is because I'm going to university soon and I need to make preparations. Yeah, I'm 19 this year. 


	6. Repercussion

Chapter 6: Repercussion  
  
Over.  
  
It was finally over.  
  
A week had passed since he first gained consciousness. He was told by Albus that the members of the Order could not arrive in time. Fortunately, Albus had been with them and found him in the room with the boy. The other Death- Eaters were captured while he was brought back to Hogwarts to be nursed by Madam Pomfrey.  
  
In that week alone, chaos erupted among the Death-Eaters. Many, if not most, were caught, and the public was wildly glad they could sate themselves with vengeance after the horrors unleashed upon them.  
  
Albus did not say it explicitly, but he gathered that the Headmaster did not approve of how the Ministry was carrying out the trials and allowing the public to loot the Death-Eaters' homes blatantly and brazenly heap scorn on their relatives. Furthermore, some of the more important members, such as Malfoy, were not arrested due to their wealth and influential status.  
  
He could not care so much at present. Lying on the soft bed in a secluded part of the Hospital Wing, he watched the sunbeams streaming through the long windows. Certainly, he felt restful. He could sleep for as long as he wished, without fear, without worry. Oddly too, was the absence of recurring nightmares. That aspect of improvement of his life nagged at him. The heady sensation was almost too pleasurable to bear. He did not think he deserved it. He questioned whether his conscience was taking the leave off after berating him relentlessly throughout the past years and concluding it needed a rest as well. He clucked his tongue irritably. He was, as a rule, not a person inflicted with flights of fancy. Another sign of how abnormal his behaviour was.  
  
However, he could not deny that he still felt listless most times. For good reason. He fingered at the Dark Mark. This would serve as the hateful reminder of the fathomless hell he had once delved in. The lives of victims snatched away would continue to haunt him. He was under no illusion about it. The recovery in the Hospital Wing was only a temporary cessation of what was to follow. There were still debts to be paid, duties to be upheld, responsibilities to attend to. He swore to do all he could possibly do. The failure of rescuing Potter and Evans also plagued him, less so for Potter. He was too arrogant.  
  
Albus visited him in the afternoon.  
  
He was updated with the court proceedings and was glad to note that his name was cleared from the list of suspects. 'Thanks.' He knew Albus must have compromised himself for helping him.  
  
'There's no need to thank me. You deserve all the credit.'  
  
'Well,' he remarked dryly, 'I don't think that leads to adulation in the papers and an Order of Merlin though.'  
  
'No,' Albus said quietly.  
  
Not that it was crucial to gain recognition. He showed what he thought by grinning wryly. Albus winked back.  
  
He sobered up, 'He will return.' There was no need to say who 'he' was.  
  
Albus nodded. 'A Killing curse won't destroy him. At least, he's gone for a period. We'll be ready for him. What are your plans Severus?' It seemed eons ago that he was asked the same question.  
  
'I don't know,' he said baldly. 'I didn't think I'd manage to survive this mess. It's not as dramatic as you think,' he added hastily when he saw Albus frown, 'Being with the Dark Lord did not persuade one to plan far ahead. One could be killed easily, even if he were not betraying him.'  
  
'Yes.' Albus reflected, 'There are things which you did not tell me. You didn't want me to be in the dilemma.' For a moment, he looked haggard. 'This guilt will weigh.'  
  
He had no experience in comforting another, if comfort was to be called for in this instance. He knew it was not possible to hoodwink Albus about the extent he had chosen to hide the activities he had to carry out despite his revulsion and reluctance. It was not a saintly impulse that drove him. He was simply practical. He knew that even if Albus had known every gruesome detail, and however much he might want to help him escape, the Headmaster would be compelled to beseech him to continue. He was the link between the two poles.  
  
If there was anything he was not prepared to see, it was Albus Dumbledore begging a Death-Eater.  
  
'I'm sorry.' Albus whispered.  
  
'You did nothing.' He reassured.  
  
'That is precisely the point,' countered Albus acidly. 'I never seem to do anything for you. You were the one protecting me while we were fighting Voldemort.'  
  
'You accepted me,' said he quietly, 'After all I've done, you were magnanimous to let my past be. For me, that amounts to the most decent thing anyone can do for me.' He hesitated. 'I can't do it myself.'  
  
'Well,' Albus interrupted before he spiralled inwards, 'There're some positions vacant here, as some professors have retired. Will you teach Severus?'  
  
'Oh, are you giving me shelter now?' He chuckled. If someone other than Albus had proffered it, he would have deeply resented the charitable gesture. He truly would think himself spineless for grabbing anything that was offered. As it was Albus who was asking him, he gave him the benefit of seriously considering it.  
  
Hogwarts was not a home to him, as so many students declared it to be for them. He had not found happiness or a sense of belonging throughout his seven years. Yet, he had embraced the place. There was something comforting in the methodic schedule both students and staff alike stick to. There was relative calm in lessons. And so long as he did not disturb anyone, no one bothered him. There was consolation in solitude. It was a place where there were few loud arguments and traumatising fights that he regularly received from his family, from his miserable excuse of a home. The school had acted as his sanctuary.  
  
Yes, he could learn to adapt to the potential situation.  
  
'I wonder at the appropriateness of my temperament.'  
  
'It'll do,' Albus said merrily. 'If you like, we can have an official trial period, just to see how it goes.'  
  
'What of the staff?' He did not add it may be intimidating to have colleagues who were not just older than you two or three time over, but who also knew since you were a scrawny eleven-year-old. Besides, he was not the popular student. He wondered at their reaction were Albus to announce his decision. There was the possibility that they would find it scandalous, after hearing the rumours circulated in their society about him. They knew not yet of his double masquerade for the Order. Surely they would protest and doubt his loyalties.  
  
On the other hand, they may not pay attention to him. The fact that the war was over asserted a profound impact on most of the wizarding world. Like a helpless crew aboard a lost ship that was swept up in a thunderous storm at sea for immeasurable time who suddenly realised that the swirling fog of menace was lifted, the magical community was perplexed at the circumstances they were in, responsible for none of the abrupt change no less. True, they were grateful, but during the war they were preoccupied in fighting against the dark forces. Now, they were thrust with the challenge of living without the threat of the Dark Lord and they did not know how to start. The Dark Lord's influence remained oppressive. Many would have to pluck up the courage to venture out again.  
  
The Ministry and the Daily Prophet were certainly pulling out all the strings to expound on them that peace reigned once more, eager to propogandise that the righteous have triumphed, just as long as all paid their proper respect to those in power. They forgot to mention how they had launched into a series of bribes, ultimatums and bullying with the Death- Eaters to scrap flimsy pieces of evidence. It was a cold and fast business transaction. Both sides profited from the exchange, and both kept silent about the proceedings. So long as some Death-Eaters were brought into prominence, and the Ministry provided the chance for the people to jeer at them in court, the public at large was satisfied.  
  
'The staff will cooperate. Don't fret,' Albus smiled affectionately, 'After all you've been through, do you think you're incapable of dealing with a bunch of dithering, elderly witches and wizards?'  
  
Put it in that angle, he had to agree. He glanced at the list of vacant positions that Albus had procured for his perusal. 'Erm, can I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts then?'  
  
His spirits fell when Albus creased his forehead, 'No. I'm afraid that position's reserved for someone else.'  
  
'You still don't trust me. You don't think I can handle it,' he said softly. He refused to show his hurt. It was silly of him to expect more.  
  
'My dear lad, if I didn't trust you, would I have entrusted secrets like who the members in the Order are to you?' Albus shook his head, 'And besides, call me superstitious, but the DADA position's been passed on from one professor to another every year consecutively for two decades. I don't want to lose you. To be honest, I don't want you to be immersed in the dark arts. You've done that all your life. I want you to take a break from it to see life in a different way.'  
  
He was somewhat placated and sullenly answered, 'All right, but be forewarned that I harbour a strong suspicion that you just don't want me to take it.'  
  
Albus smiled. 'Thank you. Will you teach Potions instead?'  
  
He consented. Better that than, he looked at the list again, heavens forbid, flying lessons, which did not require great finesse in wits, only an inclination toward it and sheer guts. To take that position would be appallingly mundane and humiliating.  
  
As they talked for hours, it occurred to him that a new stage of his life had already begun. It was a new breath of life, one which he hoped would enable him to break free and stand on his own. As Albus piled a stack of food that the House-Elves presented and force-fed him until he insisted that he ate himself, he felt more upbeat and alive. Perhaps, if he took it step by step, he may slowly emerge from the shadows and leave his shackles that bound him in the recesses of the past. He might even develop an appreciation for life.  
  
Albus was rubbing off on him.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
duochang97: Hello! Regarding your question, I wrote how Snape pretends to be raging over Lily. So he's not seen to be betraying the Dark Lord, just. . . misbehaving. And Voldemort was not there to see him turn on a fellow Death-Eater because he was already 'dead' by then. No doubt Snape will be punished when he returns to his 'master', but Voldemort will not have strong suspicions of his loyalty.  
  
abraxis: Thanks for the encouragement! 


	7. Intermission

Chapter 7: Intermission

Severus laid the bouquet of flowers by the Potters' grave. He stood up and bowed his head in reverence. 

Ten years. Could it really be ten years past?

Severus was amazed. Ten years since he had found relative peace; ten years since the fall of his master, Lord Voldemort. Even now he dared not say the name out loud. That was the man, no, the creature who had led him on to damnation.

And the man who was beside him was the man who had brought him to salvation.

Albus was humming a requiem he had composed for the Potters just before their funeral as he cleaned up the grave. It was soft, whimsical and sincere, more suitable for Evans than Potter. Severus thought she would appreciate it more than her husband would. But then, the tune was from Albus. Potter would have been touched.

If souls existed and watched mortals all…

Strange how the gods worked. Now that Severus knew what true friendship meant, after all those years with his mentor, he felt a tinge of sympathy for Potter that no visitor came by his and Evans' grave but some of the Hogwarts' staff and the Order of the Phoenix.

Potter's friends… that group, who stuck together fiercely when they were in school, was in disarray. 

Lupin, the unfortunate werewolf, gone into travelling round the world, in part to seek a cure for his condition, in part because of that which left him with no stable job. Severus remembered Albus offering Lupin the DADA position once, but that werewolf was too proud. Too typically Gryffindor.

Pettigrew, killed on the same day as Potter and Evans were, by the one they trusted… Black. That wretch, locked away in Azkaban forever, shrouded by despair and surrounded by Dementors.

What a melancholic fate to befall this group of four friends. Severus might have had derived relish from the thought before. But he was merely solemn now. True, he still hated Black with every fibre of his being, and he had wanted to be the one to catch him, but that was ten years ago. Many things had happened after that.

Yet, the irony, that it was he, Severus Snape, the ex-schoolmate viewed with contempt, who had been visiting the Potters' grave every year, did not escape him.

Albus finished his task. Checking the time, he spoke to Severus, "I should go soon to the Ministry to discuss about the admissions of the Hogwarts's students next term."

Severus shook his head, "A waste of time just for the sake of formality. It is you who are the one in charge Hogwarts. A Muggleborn learns that immediately once he or she enters the school. Albus, you command more respect than Fudge himself."

"Ah…" Albus looked on at the grave meaningfully, "This year will be different."

Severus followed Albus's gaze. Yes, he sighed inwardly. This coming term would be different.

Harry Potter would be joining them, taking his rightful place in the wizarding world.

Severus recalled the image of a tiny boy, with the resemblance of his father and eyes of his mother and wondered whom he would be like. It would be tedious to discover that Potter's son was the replica of his father in character as well.

"Have you ever seen him Albus? During his life with his Muggle relatives?"

"I did not think it wise. Too many magical disturbances would be attracting unwanted attention. But you know Arabella's been watching over him. Poor child. Orphaned and alone. Never having a chance to visit his parents' grave. I'm told his relatives do not treat him as their kin. Still, he is safe. He's survived worse, and it's a comfort to note he's finally to be among us."

"That is not what I'm concerned about."

"He doesn't know anything about James and Lily or magic in the first place Severus. I'm certain he won't be stepping into Hogwarts with prejudices against you."

"Also not what I'm concerned about. You know me perfectly well, thank you Albus. I don't give a damn what students think of me. Year in, year out, I've come to the conclusion that they are all dunderheads, stifling the intellectual atmosphere we professors try to achieve. McGonagall may tolerate it admiringly, Flitwick may embrace them affectionately, but I for one will continue smiting them as they deserve."

Albus looked quite offended. Then he took it in stride and smiled wryly, "Did you hear of the new rumour the fifth-years circulate about you?"

"Anything original?" Severus asked hopefully.

"They are absolutely sure that you are a vampire."

"What of the sun?"

"You're a Potions Master, are you not? You make a salve to protect you. Oh, by the way, you've been careless too. The students have discovered that you drink the blood of abandoned babies. If they are firstborns, they're better. Apparently they enhance your power."

Severus pondered over it, "How many babies have I drank from?"  
"Countless. Babies are fast disappearing each day in the wizarding world. Only no one dares report it or you'll kill him or her."

"Very logical. And it fits the theory of my being a bat."

"I never know when you're serious or joking," Albus laughed, and then became sombre, "What is it that you're worried about Severus?"

Severus heaved out reluctantly, "He won't be Harry Potter. He'll be the Boy-Who-Lived."

Realisation dawned on Albus's face, "Ah, I see where your direction is. You fear of a potential backlash when Harry who's simply a puny boy in the Muggle world finds himself famous to every witch and wizard in the world. The boy who single-handedly overthrew Voldemort. Yes, it isn't true, I know. It was Lily who saved us by sacrificing for Harry. But it's the common perspective. That is not to say Harry will not be the capable wizard it seems he will be. Remember the prophesy. But till then… You think he can't handle the reputation he unknowingly gained."

"He's eleven, an ignorant child. Corruption is easy. Ill-bred egoism, over confidence, the likes. It's easy to fall into the trap when everyone worships you."

"What would you have said if I was the one who said that to you when you were eleven?"

Severus smirked triumphantly, "That I was never young. I was old when I was born."

Albus looked startled. The regret he felt was hidden quickly, "Yes, you were. In your way. You might be interested to find that Harry may have more similarities with you than you expect."

Severus stared away at the clear-blue skies. He did not quite believe that, but he did not try to deny it. "Who knows?" he said simply.

Who knew what would happen? The world slept in peace for the past ten years, but Severus was always aware of the lingering threat that covered them. Time did not dim the memories of his youth nor diminish the threat that was the return of Lord Voldemort.

With Harry Potter soon in play, Severus had the discomforting foresight that many important events would follow the boy's arrival. The turning points they met on the road. He could see easily, the world plunging into darkness again after the liberation from it. And it may be just this boy who could turn the tide. Somehow, Severus could not seek confidence in that.

"We'll help Harry of course," Albus broke into his thoughts, "We'll guide him."

Severus said, "You'll help him. Don't bring me into this."

"You'll be his professor Severus. Like it or not, he'll be your responsibility."

The thought pleased and rattled Severus. On the one hand, it meant that Potter's brat would be under his control. On the other hand, it meant having to save the boy's hide were matters to escalate to that point. Well, after all, he needed to clear his debt he owed to Potter. It was more than ten years overdue.

His conscience rankled at him again. "Being the bastard as ever Severus. Judging the boy even before you've seen him."

Severus frowned to himself.

Albus left Severus by the grave when he apparated to the Ministry.

Severus began talking. His speech was directed at Evans, as usual. He ignored Potter.

"Your son's coming to Hogwarts. Can you see him? Are you there? I don't know what to believe. They say the souls are all around. But I don't see them and I don't feel the light. I can only feel the filth, the persistent dread of what's to come. And when it does come, do the heavens guard us? Or will we be abandoned to purgatory? Cast aside for the crimes we commit? And will the innocent be watched and taken into the loving arms of those above, even as they fall on earth? What can be done?"

Severus paused. It did not matter. He had sworn to protect this sorry world from evil. He would do it with his last breath. For better or worse, they had to face it squarely.

"I'll watch over your son Lily. But you better keep an eye on him as well. I have a suspicion he is going to be like his father."

With that, Severus left. As he meandered his way among the various graves out of the cemetery, he wondered at how peaceful a place like this could be. A final resting ground for those who left for another world, perhaps one that was greener and fairer.

Till then, the living had to deal with what was given to them here.

~***~

Author's Note:

I'll be having a hiatus for this fanfic so as to concentrate on my other fanfic. This chapter can be seen as the end before the entry of Harry Potter, or the beginning of the canon. As it is, this fanfic can stand on its own even if I decide not to continue.

Thanks to all the lovely reviewers. Reviews are what keep us fanfic writers going. Ha.

So, so long for now. Take care all.


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